All the King's Horses and All the King's Men
by Folded Papers
Summary: It started out like a bad fiction. A kidnapping so vanilla Tony was wisecracking all the way into Day Two. Until they tried to break him. And there was nothing Steve could do but sit there in the wretched cell, watching and listening and remembering what was done unto him. But it got worse.


Once it was the most hyped-up thing ever. Talk of the town. Nowadays? Technically the subject matter _did_ crop up that one time genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist Tony Stark said everything special of Captain America came out of the bottle. And what ensued was exactly why nobody thought bringing up the super soldier serum over dinner was a good idea. But that didn't mean Steve resented the fact that he was perfection defined by Erskine's formula and Howard's Vitaray. Not at all. He welcomed it. _Embraced it_. He asked for it in the first place anyway.

Moments like this made him doubly glad that he had the serum in him.

He couldn't yet recall what happened beyond breakfast. Well, vaguely. He was getting ready for his morning run when he bumped into Tony at the elevators and the billionaire asked if he could come as … nothing.

When he first came to, there wasn't much difference between blinking and not. Just pitch blackness. But rapidly his vision grew accustomed to the lack of light, and he strained his ears for sounds. Hearing nothing didn't mean he was alone, so as subtly as he could he flexed his limbs. His arms were both chained behind his back, forcing him into an uncomfortable half-slouch as he sat on the cold, dusty ground. His legs were immobile too, having been bound around the ankles with what felt like thick manacles. But his neck was free, so he popped those knots around his shoulders and nape.

That was when he realised they'd got someone else chained to the walls opposite of him. Steve couldn't quite make out the other person's silhouette but no matter, if he was taken from his run with Tony, surely it only meant –

A short groan was emitted from that corner and Steve saw the shadow stirred. Loud clinks and clanks accompanied his movements.

"Oh, fuck my life…"

Steve sighed upon hearing the familiar rumble of the voice. He called out softly, "Tony?"

The figure stiffened and Steve was certain Tony's eyes were boring into his, even if they couldn't actually see anywhere farther than their own toes.

"Damn. I was hoping you got away."

"Didn't happen that way."

"Now who's gonna save us from this crap? Nobody's going to notice us gone until – I don't know – next week?"

Bright white light shone on them in that instant when the recessed lighting suddenly came on. Steve squinted. As painful as it was to keep even a sliver of his eyes open, he barely managed to, and he quickly scanned their surroundings before their captors decided to call lights out again. Their cell was as spacious as his room in that rented Brooklyn apartment – tiny by Tony's standard but not bad by others' – and it wasn't as grimy as he initially thought. True enough, Tony was sitting huddled in his corner directly opposite of him. He had his face pressed into his shoulder, shielded from the blinding light. Both of his arms were drawn high above his head, manacled to the wall. Unlike Steve though, his legs were free.

The cell had no windows or air wells in the ceilings. The single door to Steve's right didn't look particularly fortified. Perhaps more importantly, there were no cameras or any unidentifiable devises mounted on any open surface that he could detect. And coupled that with the obvious leniency in the way they were securing Tony, Steve hoped with the captors' underestimation of their circumstances there was still a chance in chance that they could soon spring themselves out of this mess.

Then the lights were gone, drowning them both in darkness again.

Tony exhaled from his corner, jarring the chains as he relaxed his posture somewhat.

"Well, this sucks."

"Are you hurt?"

There was a pause as Steve imagined Tony reassessing his state of wellbeing.

"I don't think so. You?"

"I'm fine."

"Can you move enough to sit over here or something? I got plenty of bunk space tonight."

Steve tilted his head back to let it rest on the wall behind him.

"Don't think I can. I'm all locked down here."

"Come on, Cap. Armoured tanks never stopped you before. Just break those bedroom handcuffs apart and get us out of here."

That, Steve had been wondering too. He'd wager his Harley Davidson that the chains were still holding him down not because for his lack of trying.

"I can't. I don't know if that's even possible but I've tried, believe me. It's just not breakable."

"All right," Tony sighed resignedly. "Adamantium steel maybe. Or vibranium alloy. Not breakable. Sure. Or some strength dampeners. The technology's been making its round on the black market. Nat's still trying to take them down, but still… either way, these assholes definitely have deep pockets. So what are we going to do? Pillow fights? Truth or dare?"

A heavy thud resonated in the room. The echo came from the door as if a heavy lock mechanism had just been lifted from the outside. Steve pulled himself into a straighter position, his mind racing as he arranged his thoughts and words. It was usually around this time that kidnappers would make themselves known and initiate negotiations.

The door opened and a troop of men – soldiers, agents, thugs, neither Steve could actually identify – marched in. Their heavy boots drummed menacingly against the floor. From what little light that streamed into the cell from the hallway, Steve could make out the man standing right before him as the one with authority if going by how he was glaring at the others in line.

Without another word, he cocked his head in Tony's direction.

And then Steve held himself taut in his bondage. He strained against the chains, applying all his strength into breaking them, constantly, _desperately_ , even when all attempts were rendered futile. Until it became a means of grounding himself as half a dozen men lay a merciless beat down on the billionaire, no holds barred. He couldn't see past the gloom and that somehow felt worse, and now all he had was a treacherous swirl of imagination. Steve's enhanced hearing didn't miss every pound of fists and boots on flesh, and Tony's own subdued cries of agony when each hit collide. The man that'd ordered the assault did not partake in the violence. He stood a clear distance away right before Steve, staring down at Captain America, taunting: _what can you do about it?_

It took a particularly vicious scream so guttural from that damned corner for Steve to reluctantly avert his eyes to the side. As sudden as it began, all attacks ceased and one by one, they marched out of the cell and the door closed curtly behind them again.

Steve called out for Tony. It wasn't acknowledged, and the stupid chains didn't even give the slightest chime. With nothing else for company save for the resolutely unmoving body, Steve carefully brought a knee up to rest his forehead on. Then he prayed.

* * *

No windows, no clocks, so no ways to tell the time of the day. It could've been a couple of hours after the attack before Tony stirred sluggishly and used the chains around his arms as leverage to pull himself up.

"How are you holding up?"

It took several disquiet seconds, but the billionaire eventually rasped in reply, "Peachy. You… did they…"

"No. They left after you pass out."

Despite the distance between them, Steve could still sense how troublingly heavy Tony's breathing was. Steve had almost forgot how privileged he was to have a mucous-free airway after the serum, but he would never forget that sound of stuttering inhalation with each time his lungs fought for expansion.

"Easy, Tony. Breathe slowly in, and out. Don't rush it."

"Yeah," he panted. "I think… I cracked a rib or two."

"All right. Keep it light. Can't have you risk a puncture or a collapse now."

Steve heard a quick chuckle from the corner. "So Cap, have you figured out their end game, yet?"

"They're attacking only you. So unless it's something you said or did to them in the past…"

"… they're actually targeting _you_. And since I'm out of my suit…"

"… you're their way in."

"Mm. Lucky me."

"We still haven't figured out what they want."

"Guess you'll have to find out. Ask them afterwards when they're busy, you know, playing with their new piñata."

Steve tensed in his chains. "That's not funny."

"Look, I don't appreciate this five-star shiatsu session I'm booked in, but the way I see it, if this means one of us is gonna come out of this intact, then it's a win." Tony bit back a groan as he folded his legs under him. And with some effort he gritted out, "I know you'd rather trade. And don't think for I second I'm trying to play hero here, or something, because I'm not. This is strategic. And you know it, too."

Picking on the weaker of the two was a no brainer, but if they managed to force their way out of here, they would need all the muscle they have and Tony wasn't going to be able to bodily haul Steve along on their triumphant escapade.

And so it was.

"I'm counting on you, buddy."

* * *

The silence and blackness stretched on and on to what felt like half a day to Steve. Or perhaps it just felt that long – he was starting to lose count on the hours – and Tony hadn't been talking or moving much for the matter. Steve was only somewhat comforted by the soft, rhythmic snores coming from that corner and he settled back into an uneasy meditation. Their captors had been very meticulous thus far. There was almost nothing that he could glean from what brief contact they'd had previously. Nothing from the Spartan cell and the blank uniforms the men were donning.

As if on cue, the door clanked again. He heard the lock being lifted from the other side and light streamed in as the door swung open revealing only three men standing by the doorway. But like before, they approached Tony's side of the cell where two of them knelt on either side of the restrained billionaire.

"Shirt off," the one still standing instructed.

Perfect American accent. Clue number one. Steve busied himself by hunting for more. It took a lot of self-control to discipline his mind to not focus on the ugly mottles of bruises painting Tony's torso, or how those men by his sides had a thick wad of cloth and a hammer in their grip.

Tony bit down a howl when someone pressed brusquely into his battered diaphragm.

"Mr Stark. Let's do away with the preamble. What I have here is a tablet connected to one of the most sophisticated security system the world has ever seen. Our experts can only get us this far, and to actually breach the firewall, we need –"

"Why me?" Tony interjected breathlessly.

"What?"

"Me. Why me? You need a hacker, there's plenty out there for you to pick. Not saying you should kidnap anyone of them, and my genius _is_ irrefutable –"

Steve caught another shriek, harsher, as the hand dug deeper into Tony's abdomen.

"OK," Tony panted, "OK. What's behind the firewall? Whoa – what the _fuck_ are you –"

The thick wad of cloth was heaped onto Tony's mid-abdomen. The other man raised his hammer to chest level.

"No more questions, Mr Stark. We just need you to get us through the system. What we do next is none of your business, and we'll even let you walk out of this place scot free. How's that for a deal?"

"How about no?"

Another scream tore out of Tony's throat when the hammer was sunk into his stomach. Steve saw the way Tony lurched forward, only to have his limbs held down to the wall and floor by the other men.

"See, they're all soft tissue, but they're no walks in the park either. So we can either do this all day or you do as we say. Look here."

The talking man grabbed a fistful of Tony's hair and manhandled him into looking at the tablet he was cradling. Tony squinted at the brightness of the screen. He read the codes, line after line in rapid succession, and the further he went, the deeper his frown became.

"No," he whispered. "I know what you're up to."

Steve could almost see the oily grin on the man's face even with his back turned against him. "Ah, see we brought in the right expert for the job after all. Here, a little incentive, release those chains."

Metal chains hit the ground and Tony embraced his arms protectively around his chest. Steve couldn't guess which hurt more – the pin and needles, or the contusions around his torso.

"We can play nice too if you cooperate, Mr Stark. So what do you say?"

Tony watched the screen again, seemingly enthralled by the way the cursor blip at the end of the code. An invitation for the key. Then Tony looked up just over the man's shoulder. His brown eyes locked with Steve's.

The edge of his lips tipped upward in a small smile.

"Sorry. Don't think I can oblige."

Then they didn't bother asking anymore and Tony didn't care if he was crying himself hoarse. Steve scrunched his face up trying to block his consciousness from registering all the horror that was done unto the once proud billionaire. Algorithm be damned, they took immense pleasure raining the already battered body with the hammer. Steve was glad they had his arms chained – for their sake – because otherwise, he would've laid waste to the devils themselves.

When it was quiet and it was just Steve and Tony alone in the cell again, Steve panted in muted shock, the remnant of Tony's wet coughs still reverberating in the recesses of his memory.

* * *

"If this doesn't seem weird to you, I don't know what does."

Half a day after that bloody incident - by Steve's internal clock that was starting to get rather unreliable by the minute – a paramedic of some sort was ushered into the cell. Like all others before her, she didn't utter a word and her uniform bore no useful clues, not even the slightest hint as to the master she served. As she worked deftly on Tony – scanning for injuries and ending her treatment with dressing up half of the his upper body – she ignored Steve's every attempt at trying to get her to talk. The only sign that he wasn't dealing with a robot was the way her green eyes flicker to him when he proffered his sincerest gratitude for treating his friend. Steve glimpsed upon compassion and sympathy, but she quickly steeled herself and marched out of the cell. Then two men came in and undid Tony's chains. They hauled him – still deeply unconscious – to an empty spot beside Steve and tethered the chains there.

"Cat got your tongue, Steve? Talk to me. I can't figure this out and it's killing me."

With Tony now in closer proximity to Steve, communication ran smoother. So they started profiling their captors.

"Shit, this strength dampener is StarkTech. How on earth did this happen – this industrial espionage crap is getting ridiculous –"

"Are you sure it's yours?"

"I know it just by touch. I built the damn prototype on Christmas eve."

"What were you doing building things like this in the first place?"

Another good thing about being closer to Tony was that when he fidgeted, it wasn't lost to Steve.

"I figured it's prudent to have a safety cap on things, in case we get attacked by some random mooks with awesome superpowers –"

"Or Dr Banner. Or me."

"… I'm sorry."

"It's working very well."

The companionship was much welcomed when so much time had passed and the Avengers hadn't shown up knocking on a rescue mission. But even with two heads together, they'd only come up with more questions than answers.

"You see, Cap. It's only logical that they're using me as leverage to force you to spill your beans."

"They're not. They want you."

"But you know way more government secrets than me, being Captain America and all. Hell you're SHIELD's best asset."

"You said it. Fury's secrets have secrets. It's not me they want. That programme on the tablet. You obviously know it. What's it about?"

"Know it? I _wrote_ it."

Turned out the locations and activation codes of the country's nuclear warheads were not a rigid string of digits. They were randomly generated by an original set of algorithms tasked to SHIELD's best coder and engineer at the time.

"Howard Stark."

"Yep. Dad was so engrossed in the job, he forgot to come home on Thanksgiving."

But a revolution erupted and technology that couldn't catch up was soon obsolete. SHIELD's expansive digital systems needed upgrading. Direly. The young scion of the Stark empire was proving to be as gifted as his father before him, and the task to upgrade and maintain that system naturally was bequeathed to him.

"But it still doesn't make a lick of sense. Even if they do get their grubby paws on the codes, they mean technically nothing since the President and this other dude - so I've been told - will have to use their keys to actually greenlight the launch. There's some weird shenanigan going on here, Steve. I just can't figure it out. I mean, what's their end game, really? What do they want -"

"Shh."

When the men came in again, Tony – feeling his best since the day they were captured – decided to start running his mouth, much to Steve's chagrin. But he didn't stop Tony because it happened to be one of the things going through the forefront of his brain right now.

"You know, most of the time when people keep prisoners, they tend to want them alive. We're starving here, so put two to two together –"

"Strip him."

Tony struggled with renewed vigour. His chains clanged loud in the cell but his injuries and hunger hampered his efforts. The accompanying men held him down again, but the one – so far the only one – who'd ever spoken thus far said coolly, "Take the cuff off."

Steve could hear the collective cogs turn in their minds. Tony's eyes gleamed in the wake of the dimmed hallway light. Freedom was just a quick dash away.

It was a mistake to underestimate the might of a mere scientist-businessman.

"And don't get any funny ideas, Mr Stark. One wrong move and I will empty my magazine into the Captain, so help me."

There was a frosty click as the man undid the safety on his pistol and pointed the barrel at Steve. Tony did not resist when he was bodily thrown over into Steve's lap.

"Unzip the Captain's pants."

"What?"

"You said you were hungry. That should satisfy you. Your reputation reaches far, Mr Stark."

It was the first time Steve had seen that look in Tony. Doubt. Fear. Confusion. To someone wearing so many hats – a scientist, also CEO of a conglomerate, an _Avenger_ – they were perpetual. In all the years he'd had the privilege of calling Tony his friend and comrade, he'd learned that Tony was only human and wasn't immune to misgivings, but a Stark never crumbled under pressure. He'd take the reign and get down and dirty when it was demanded of him. Qualities that were as rare as they were venerable.

"Steve?"

Sometimes, being put on the block, forced to make that decision was the worst thing that could happen. But if it all came down to Tony, despite all that'd happen between them, he'd do it. Uunwaveringly so. He'd _trust_ Tony Stark. And he'd forgive him, always.

"It's OK. Do what you have to."

Hands trembling uncontrollably, Tony fumbled around for Steve's zipper.

"OK."

"Of course, you can save yourself the trouble if you do us a favour," he whipped out his tablet again, the familiar code splayed across the screen, "and we'll soon be on our merry way."

And his head dipped down, his warm, parched mouth engulfing Steve in a one go.

Steve once read that people don't remember things as a continuous timeline. People remember in _moments_. And if he had to talk about the moments he'd shared with Tony, he'd have to make himself a huge mug of coffee, get into his cosiest armchair and then slowly recount their decade long partnership because that tends to happen when sharing screen time with the explosive billionaire. The lifeline of the party, the centre of the all things happening. Ironically enough, behind all those bravado was a chronic suicidal streak that he tended to exhibit, especially when things had gotten so low he thought everything and everyone would be better off without him.

And sadly, that thought came to Tony often.

Steve had had to rescue him from those dark depths multiple times. The drinking, the missions he treated like his swansong? Every time when shit hits the fan and Tony decided to check out, Steve came marching in and saved him. That's what friends do for each other, he scolded once. Or thrice. But when shit hits the fan and dying wasn't an option, when he could be of some use, or if somebody needed him, Steve could bet an arm and a leg Tony would give it his all to make it work.

"Come on, Stark, are you even taking this seriously?"

The man waved the pistol and Tony gripped harder around the still-clothed thighs of the super soldier. His head bobbed in earnest, taking in as much as he could without suffocating himself and Steve felt his lower abdomen churn. A blowjob is a blowjob, and though Steve hadn't had much experience in this department – Natasha was right, he needed to date more – Tony was giving him the pleasure of his lifetime. As Tony dragged his tongue in frantic proficiency along the vein that ran from his balls to the glistening tip, and slurped around the velvety head before going back down for more, Steve was quite delirious with need. A small voice in the back of his mushy brain wondered where Tony got his hands-on from.

Then Tony groaned around Steve's cock. His grip on Steve's thighs tightened as his administration was fleetingly paused. Steve hesitantly looked up to see why, and while he saw nothing definite, but going by the way the other man's hands disappeared between Tony's own thighs, how it was sliding in and out of focus, it wasn't hard to guess. Tony's chest heaved in between pleasure and pain, but slowly, he descended once more upon Steve and continued where he left. What little self-control he had left evaporated and Steve suddenly clenched his fists until his fingernails cut into his palms. He bucked his hips lightly. _Let up, Tony_ , he almost let slip, but he kept his mouth shut because he wasn't going to instigate trouble, not when they were toying with Tony like he didn't matter.

He pulsed in the warm cavern and still Tony kept his head down, licked and sucked as he was clearly expected to, serenaded by the howling of the hyenas behind him. Steve couldn't stop himself.

He let go.

He was still busy spilling seeds onto his stomach and actually getting air into his lungs when Tony was hauled up by his waist and forced to straddle Steve. He lay his temple on Steve's shoulders with his face angled away into the cool air. Still Steve heard them – disjointed, sharp intakes of air and the tremors that raked the rest of his body as Tony draped over him.

"Fuck, you're tight like a virgin. And here I am thinking you're always raring to go."

The darkness wasn't a handicap anymore. Steve's eyes had gotten accustomed to the low level of light that just those streaming freely from the hallway through the open door provided him with enough.

"Run your mouth for me, won't ya, Stark? Bitch the way you always do."

The rhythmic rocking of Tony's naked and sweaty body against Steve made him so sick to his stomach. Tony kept resolutely mum throughout the ordeal, if only for Steve's benefit than anything else. The only sign of him being acutely aware of it was the way he held onto Steve – crumpling a corner of Steve's collar in his fist – and his belaboured breathing right beside Steve's ears. Their chests were almost flushed against each other, two hearts thrumming with enough force to leap out of the ribcages. When the man groaned and jerked his hip forward with a desperate sense of finality, Steve felt a drawn, hot breath skated across his neck. Tony peeled himself off, and where he had lain his head on his shoulder minutes ago, now it was vacant and cold with residual wetness on the sleeve.

"Oh, looks like the Captain is ready for round two himself."

Tony glanced down and groaned, the stricken look on his face mirroring Steve's.

"I'm not going to unchain him, so lend him a hand, will you?"

Tony wordlessly reached down and closed a fist around the base of Steve's erection.

"No, you're taking that dick through your backdoor like the good whore you are."

It didn't quite register, the way the entire thing unfold, how Tony repositioned himself to straddle Steve's waist, how he guided Steve's engorged manhood to his entrance, or how he lowered himself until it was completely sheathed inside him. His mind a lost cause until Tony sat paralysed in his lap. He gently nudged the side of Tony's face with his.

"Tony?"

"Steve…" he breathed out, his voice straining with obvious agony. "Fuck…"

He raised himself up some inches and sank back down. His breaths stuttered as he repeated the motion, a steady rhythm at first but soon peppered with deliberate delays in between. The fists around Steve's shirt were becoming lax and Tony himself seemed to be barely holding on.

The man whom Steve had completely forgotten about clutched Tony about his shoulders and yanked him off, viciously pulling the billionaire out of Steve's half-hard manhood. They lay him on the dusty ground and pulled an eyelid up.

"Dilated. He's not responding."

"For fuck's sake, this is all on you – if the Director knew –"

"Tattle, and I'll make you my next mission."

They refastened the chains around Tony's wrists and was gone immediately after, as if absolutely nothing had happened the past half an hour. Ten minutes later, the chains clinked in that familiar way when Tony moved about, and Steve hoped he was OK. Maybe he'd reassume the resident chatterbox position and start commenting on the weather.

But he didn't. So Steve didn't, either.

* * *

It could well be their third day without food. They brought in hydration thrice a day. Bathroom trips were unfortunately not included so they resorted to emptying their bladder into the used water bottles. Steve hoped the water would keep coming. Frankly he didn't want to have to recycle their urine. With his hands chained behind his back, it was up to Tony to help him out with the affair, and it wasn't awkward, not in the least.

But the same cannot be said about a rape, can it?

Tony had been uncharacteristically silent since then. He'd woken up with a start, and when his knee collided with Steve's he'd flinched – the way the chains rattled cruelly – and he was calculative as to how much distance was put between them. Steve could hear his own sanity slip. He busied himself with reminiscing random snippets of what happened last month in Austria, or last week when Bruce cooked them curry, or two days ago that frankly had more gaps than content…

And then everything was as clear as day.

Tony said that the entire situation didn't quite add up. The first day they were brought in, the captors were suspiciously cool about kidnapping two of the most prominent Avengers. They kept Captain America locked down with a StarkTech prototype that Tony was half-certain couldn't have fallen into outsider hands yet. Their violence was targeted at Tony alone and at first it seemed obvious; Tony wasn't as physically resilient, hence, a very effective bargaining chip. But they didn't want to negotiate with Steve at all, did they? Because all they wanted from them – from Tony – was the algorithm to decipher the nuclear warheads' locations and activation codes. Even then, Tony had said that the algorithms alone weren't enough. So unless there were plans to coerce the President and his associate into nuking the Earth into oblivion, that was a crappy excuse for a kidnapping. And then yesterday happened, and again with the threat of either subservience or rape – so what did they mean?

"Oh God," Steve hissed in the dark. Next to him, the chains chimed a little. "Fury, you son of a bitch…"

The door opened with a slam so hard it bounced off the wall. For the second time the lights came on as bright as the sun and having been kept in the dark for days, the sudden illumination was painful as it was welcomed. The men, all donning the same blank uniforms filed meticulously into the cell. There was only one difference: this time, they were armed.

"Tony!" Steve cried out. "Listen, this whole thing, it's for you! They want you –"

A pair of thick arms circled around Steve's neck and pulled his head unnaturally back, his white throat exposed to the dank air. A silver knife was brandished by another and it was positioned right under the ear. The tip was pressed deep enough to draw blood. Tony made to charge at their captors, his fury was plain on his visage.

And then he was staring down three barrels of rifles.

"Mr Stark," a familiar voice drawled. That man – now donning a helmet, unrecognisable behind the heavily tinted visor – stepped forward and gestured in Steve's direction. "This," he pulled out the tablet, "is your last chance. You're right, you're not the only programmer who can solve this puzzle. Say you don't do what we ask you to. We'll execute the good Captain here, then we'll execute you. Then we'll help ourselves to the talent pool out there and repeat this cycle of violence. Which is entirely unnecessary, of course, if you decide to end it right here, right now. So what will you do?"

"I told you, the algorithm is meaningless without two other keys!"

"If that's what you believe, then give it to us. If it's as useless as you claim, you don't lose anything."

"Tony," Steve bit out. The knife cut into him more – he felt the sting and viscous fluid ran freely down his skin – but he had to let Tony know. "Don't..."

What he knew next was a blinding pain at the back of his head, pitch blackness, and a faraway yell that sounded like Tony's. Then, nothing.

* * *

Steve woke to a gorgeous afternoon view of Manhattan city. If it wasn't for the IV drip and the hospital gurney he was lying in, he could've mistaken it for a meeting room in one of the upper floors of the Triskelion. Only he was right, because he recognised the sterile décor of this specific chamber. The ugly vase that stood near the ceiling-to-floor window was fucking familiar too.

There was a man seated in the executive chair behind a polished mahogany table. It was swivelled away with the back facing him, but Steve didn't need to see who it was to address him.

"Nick."

"Captain." Fury rose to his feet and closed their distance with a few strides. "I've had medic go over you. You're fine. A little malnourished and dehydrated, but otherwise you're fine."

"Where's Tony?"

"The medic is taking a look at him now –"

"For God's sake, Nick! Where is –"

"Rogers, calm down –"

"Have you _any_ idea what you've done –"

"If you don't calm down, I'll have the doctors sedate you _again_ and you'll be suspended from duties effective immediately, do I make myself clear?"

It was then Steve realised he'd clutched the front of Fury's shirt. He contemplated tossing him out of the window from the 44th floor. It probably showed on his expression because Fury already had his hand closed over his right pocket and Steve had zero doubt it was a weapon powerful enough to incapacitate a super soldier.

"Yes, Sir." With stupendous amount of effort, he asked evenly, "Is Tony all right?"

"He is. For now."

"You certainly went all out on him. I hardly think it's fair. He's not –"

"Not a soldier. I know. He's been kind enough to remind us that after the Loki incident. And this is precisely why the test is overdue."

Steve leaned back heavily in his pillow. He laughed, the sort that rang hollow and as painful as a stab to the gut. Even now he still couldn't blot out Tony's screams and tears – he didn't think he could ever get past them.

"You'd as good as kill him," he said quietly.

"He's a civilian wearing a soldier's outfit, Captain. And that makes him one of us. So if he's out there on active service that means we have to be goddamn sure that he has the stone for it."

Was that what they'd achieved? Was that how SHIELD was going to justify this ultimate test of character?

"And has he proven himself enough to you?"

Fury clasped Steve on his shoulder genially and bade him to rest well. A medical personnel came in and wheeled him out of the office. They got into the elevator and Steve was too weary to ask where they plan to park him. All he knew was that his assigned room was white in every observable surface. Cosy and clean.

"Mr Stark is just next door," the medical personnel suddenly said unprompted. Steve raised a brow. "He requires considerably more medical attention than you do, Captain, so if you'd like to drop in, I'll advise you to do so in a couple of hours? As I understand it, he's still asleep."

Steve figured Tony's rebellious streak must be rubbing off of him. He waited until the last of the staff's footsteps were gone, gave it a few more minutes, and then he reached for the doorknob.

Fury, SHIELD – damn it all to hell.

And all things considered, it was a good coincidence to sneak into Tony's room at this exact moment because contrary to what the medics believe, Tony was very much alert, up and about and was currently detaching the IV tube connected to his wrist.

"What are you doing?"

Tony yelped and jumped half an inch in his bed. He was still decked in hospital garb that was loosely secured about his body. Steve could now clearly see aged bruises and contusions littering his upper half. The needle that was only partially removed was starting to leak fluid and blood.

Steve frowned at the puncture. "You're bleeding." He made to stem the flow with a towel that was draping the foot of the bedframe when Tony froze where he was and held his palm out. "Stay – just stand there."

Confused, Steve took a tentative step.

"I said – don't come any closer!"

Steve could somehow see it coming. Perhaps it was how Tony was backing himself into the wall, or the way he was starting to shake, or his irises widening in fear. Perhaps it was the tears that were brimming in the well of his eyes, those of sheer terror, or the way his chest was heaving as he went into hyperventilation.

Steve had to call the doctors to sedate him. When he was sure he could come closer without inducing another reaction from the now unconscious man, he helped them load Tony into his bed. He crept back to his own, haunted by the visit and wondered if he'd just single-handedly destroyed a good friend and brought back an empty husk of a good man. He didn't wander out of his room that night even when he heard scuffling next door.

Tony was leaving. And Steve didn't stop him.

When Fury came in the next day to ask if he'd known Tony had snuck away, Steve only shrugged. Tony had totally earned his victorious escape. He suddenly found himself giggling. Strangely enough, Fury didn't call him out on the blatant display of disrespect. In fact, he left without another word, without even so much as a curt click of the door.

And Steve still couldn't stop the hot stream of tears that'd cascaded down his cheeks.

* * *

"JARVIS?"

"Welcome back, Captain Rogers."

"Where's Tony?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. Sir has expressed his desire to not disclose his current whereabouts."

"Fair enough. Can you do me a favour, then?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Book me the earliest flight to Malibu."

There was a momentary beat, followed by an uncertain, "As you wish."

Tony's suite at the Tower was, as expected, unoccupied. And so was his workshop in the basement. A cursory check on the Tower's activity log proved that his personal ID hadn't been in use since this morning. Knowing the billionaire, he was likely no longer within New York. With his kind of money and influence, that also meant he could be anywhere. Steve supposed intergalactic travel wasn't an option yet because if Tony had made a working portal, half of the Milky Way would have heard about it. Plus Thor wasn't around, so no hitchhiking on the Bifrost either. Steve had half the mind to call Pepper as he tossed his last pair of jeans into his luggage but something told him that Tony was serious about taking some time off for himself.

"He missed a couple of meetings, yes, but that's nothing new. He called in yesterday and said he's got some ideas for the generators, so he'll check in again in two weeks or so."

It was equally unsettling as it was sorrowful to hear not a shred of distress in that conversation on Pepper's side. So Tony hadn't even told her what actually happened when he was inexplicably missing for three days.

Steve said his goodbyes and hung up.

Tony's Malibu home was a sprawling, ultra-futuristic mansion perched on a cliff that overlooked the rough waters of the Pacific. The first time Steve saw it was on the newspaper front page and it wasn't pretty. A birthday party gone wild. Tony was drunk and destructive and it took War Machine to put a stop to it. And don't get him started on the second time Steve saw it on national TV. He remembered having microwaved mac-and-cheese and appreciating the convenience of modern kitchenware as he reached for the TV remote and witnessed the utter demolition of the mansion in the hands of the Mandarin. Fake Mandarin, as it were, but it didn't make the notion of actually losing Tony to the depths of the ocean any less scarier.

The third time Steve saw the mansion was on the back of a postcard. And that was that.

When his cab dropped him off the manicured courtyard, Steve heaved his duffel bag over his shoulder and warily approached the front door. He half-expected to be greeted by either an unenthusiastic JARVIS or an array of repulsor guns asking for identification. But nothing happened as he stood there for a full minute, so he rang the doorbell and waited.

Still, nothing happened.

Not quite sure what to do, he rested his bag against a pot of petunias and sat on the front steps, only to be distracted by a rush of air and a speckle of red and gold in the sky. Steve walked out of the porch and looked up.

He thought he'd never see it again.

Iron Man shot upwards like a bullet and Steve briefly pondered that he could either start his search for the nearest hotel or camp in Tony's garden. But the suit made a sharp turn and headed back for courtyard. Steve watched as it hovered hesitantly in the air, but it finally landed and the faceplate was retracted. On the exterior, Tony looked considerably better than before. The bruises on his face were still healing and had turned a lighter shade of yellow. His eyes were clear and focused, but what astounded Steve the most was how Tony held their gazes, strong and unyielding. Maybe he was underestimating the man's constitution. Maybe he was already all right.

"Tony," Steve greeted. And Tony nodded, the edge of his lips tugged slightly in acknowledgement.

Maybe Steve was asking too much.

"What's the situation?"

"A call of duress from the Royal Gemini Cruise just 11 nautical miles off port. Four men are holding everyone on-board hostages. I don't think Fury is keen in negotiating, so we're going to have to take them down."

"Fury?" Steve frowned.

"He called in a minute after JARVIS picked up the radio. Culprits are probably some folks on SHIELD's radar."

The faceplate came down again and Steve took a step back, giving Iron Man enough berth to take flight. But it just stood where it was, puzzled. Then Tony held an arm out, palm facing upwards like an invitation and the mechanical voice that for some odd reasons still carried the personality of the man inside the suit, said, "Well, are you coming or not?"

The impromptu assignment concluded in under two hours. Tony brought a new toy to the field: a shockwave emitter that could stun and disable targets. The downside to the strategy? It was temporary, and very fleetingly so. But Steve's unannounced involvement was a boon to the mission. With his enhanced speed and reflex, once the targets were confounded, Captain America deftly dispatched them, one after another. Their teamwork was seamless; Winghead and Shellhead, back to back fighting the good fight. Steve could almost pretend that it was like any other day, that nothing was wrong. Almost, because Tony was extremely quiet on the comm.

Steve missed the chatter.

They stayed behind with the rest of the STRIKE team and assisted with sweeping the ship from top to bottom for hidden threats, and when the national security team finally showed up, Steve went on to give a verbal account of what just transpired.

He thought Tony would've flown home first. So he was somewhat glad that he found Iron Man, idling by the railing on the deck waiting for him.

The mansion didn't have a suit-disassembling deck like the Tower. The top of the roof split and Tony flew them through it, landing in the middle of what looked like a mesh of a professional workshop and a man cave. Steve hopped off when the gauntlet eased its hold on his waist. The front half of the suit sort of folded away allowing Tony, dressed casually in T-shirt and faded jeans some room to step out of it.

"How are you?" Steve tried again, hoping for any comeback that wasn't lackadaisical, that was more befitting of the billionaire's electrifying persona.

"Your bag is still on the porch, I think. The helpers aren't around today. There's a guest room upstairs that you can use. Last door to the right. Anything you need, ask JARVIS." Around this time Steve noticed a shift in Tony's behaviour. He started avoiding eye contact and had even taken a half-step back from Steve. "If you're hungry, knock yourself out with whatever you can find in the fridge. Fresh towels in the bathroom, I think –"

"Tony –"

"– and I'll have JARVIS book the earliest flight for you back to New York after dinner."

"What? But –"

Steve inadvertently advanced in Tony's direction, upon which Tony's eyes darted straight to Steve's and there it was, the telling dilation of the irises, the shallow, quickened intakes of breaths. Tony backed up so quickly he knocked into his worktable and jostled the various trinkets that were strewn haphazardly on the surface.

"Tony –"

"Stay back!"

He held an arm out, warning the other man to keep that distance and a part of Steve ached at how badly Tony was trembling. From the tail of his eye, he saw a bright blue luminesce from four units of Iron Man suits, all lined up against the wall at the far end of the lab.

The repulsors in their gauntlets were charged, and they were all aiming directly at him.

Steve looked back helplessly at Tony. He stood still and held both hands up in what he hoped appear placating and entirely unthreatening.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know." Steve picked on the rawness in the voice. "I need you to leave."

The low hum of the repulsor softened as they charged down. Knowing a lost case when he saw one, Steve decided to fold his cards for the day – admittedly, it had been a long one – and turned to the stairs that would, he presumed, take him back to the foyer.

"Steve."

And Steve stopped, one foot on a step.

"I'm quitting the Avengers."

* * *

Steve thought the instant ramen he helped himself to was superb. Another wonder of the 21st century, he mused as he slurped down the last bits of wholemeal noodle. As satisfying as the experience was, it sure came with a price – a thirst intense enough that woke him up in the middle of the night. As he padded down the darkened hallway, he walked past another door that was slightly ajar.

He tapped gently on it.

"Tony?"

It was definitely the master bedroom. Tony's morning clothes were draping a chair and a computer with its screensaver playing sat idly on the bed. But the owner was nowhere in sight.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers."

"Is Tony downstairs in his workshop?"

"No, Sir is not currently in the house."

"Where is he?"

"That, he did not say."

"Shit." Steve looked around wildly as if a certain billionaire would just stroll out of one of the rooms on this floor. "Did he take off in a suit?"

"No. All suits are accounted for and still hooked to their respective platforms."

It was a spotlight that shone directly to the sea that grasped Steve's attention. He all but pressed his nose into the wall-to-ceiling window and peered into the darkness. There he found Tony, a huddled form sitting on the sand, watching the waves under the midnight sky.

Steve ran as if he was on a mission. The cordoned section of the beach was part of the property and was only accessible through a side door connected to the kitchen. His shoes were still at the front door and there wasn't an extra pair of flip-flops for him to borrow, but that didn't deter him from charging possibly as fast as a car to the other man. Fearing of another bout of reaction, Steve eventually halted in his track and called out to Tony.

Tony sat still, his knees raised to his chest with his arms resting upon them. He didn't appear to have heard his guest. Maybe the waves were crashing onshore too loudly. Maybe the din in his head was louder than reality. But slowly he turned back, and he watched Steve from afar.

"Can I join you?"

Tony looked away, then sluggishly, he nodded.

Steve took his seat on Tony's right. Close enough to be of good company, but far enough for that much needed personal space. He stretched his legs across the sand and allowed the salty breeze and moonlight to wash over them. They'd had quiet moments like this before, not many, but each no less significant. Tony loved to bombard these moments with his fast talk and ingenuity, and Steve listened. They discussed to great ends, of the Great Wars and philosophies and the universe beyond.

Now it was quiet, and Steve sensed that he was slowly losing his old friend to it.

He wasn't going to ask Tony if he was OK. He wasn't going to _promise_ it would be OK. It was never his right. But he could talk about the Avengers. It was something that had always grounded Tony, made him feel belonged. They were his family after all.

"I sincerely hope you'll reconsider quitting the Avengers."

Tony didn't comment. His chin dipped lower, and Steve continued, "I understand. When was the last time you had a real vacation? You should take a break. Have some time to yourself." Steve exhaled slowly. "Heal. And if… if I have become… a _hindrance_ , I can do something about it. I can arrange for you to be home. Here. Fury has always talked about opening a training centre for young, emerging superheroes. SHIELD's been scouting out for locations. West Coast seems ideal. And you can stay. Mentor. Guide these kids." Steve stole a glance at his company. "We can't lose you. You're family. So don't quit on us."

Back in the days, Steve saw many a friend who came home from battle victorious but broken and tormented. Even now, everyone kind of expected him to stand tall and strong and shoulder these broken souls, which he did, every single time without fail. Any woman or man who needed his support, he provided, willingly and patiently. Some said Captain America was already numb to sufferings.

Truth was, his heart bled with every fallen tear.

Watching Tony submit to his griefs was excruciating. Steve watched grains of sand stick to his feet as he listened to every sob that he knew Tony had tried to suppress but failed. He waited, kept his eyes fixed to the black ocean ahead. It was only when Tony's breaths started to hitch and he curled an arm around his ribs that Steve started paying attention.

"Fury said it was a test," Tony began softly, his lashes wet with anguish. "I think I failed it. Son of a bitch didn't explicitly say it, and they… I think they shocked you till you were out at the time, so I wouldn't know for sure, but yeah… I think I flunk that shit. Heh, first time I ever flunk a test, would you believe that?"

Steve smiled, and his heart squeezed as Tony thumbed away a stray bead on his cheek.

"If this is worth anything, I'm glad you were with me the whole time. And I mean it."

"You don't have to accommodate my feelings. I get it. It's not easy, but it's not going to go away if we pretend… pretend that it's never happened –"

Tony laughed scathingly. "What? The sex? Spare me, Steve, that's every Friday if you know me." Steve flinched openly at the harshness of the admission, and Tony ran a palm over his face. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to put it that way. I think Rhodey can tell you how bad I cope when things do down the drain."

"I don't want to make this worse. If my presence hurts you, then –"

"You didn't want it any more than I did, and that makes us both victims. So OK, we should lay off the handshakes and hugs –" he trailed off, visibly shaking as ghosts of those days flashed across his mind.

"Hey, it's all right."

"Yeah," he gasped, his hand clenched tighter at his ribs. "Sorry."

"Tony, what I wouldn't give to spare you that –"

"I know, Cap. I know."

The faintest tinge of orange began to peek out of the horizon. The earliest hue of dawn was reflected in Tony's eyes, and in minutes it was going to be warm again. A new day. A new hope.

"My time Avenging is over, Steve. That's the lesson Fury was trying to teach."

Steve whipped around impatiently. "He doesn't get to decide that for you."

"First, they said, give them the code or risk torture. I didn't break. Then, they said, give them the code, or get raped. I didn't break. And then they said, give them the code, or they'd kill you."

"When I put on the costume, I know what I'm signing up for. It's what worth _dying_ for. I wouldn't think any lesser of you. If it were down to me, or the lives of these good people, and if that day in the cell was really it for me, then I'm going out proud, you hear? I'm not letting guilt consume you, especially when you were just doing your job right!"

"And that's really it, isn't it?" Tony finally turned to face Steve fully. The struggles were all paraded so clearly on the hardened lines of his visage that he looked like he'd aged overnight. "I chose you, Steve. You. 'Cause I can't watch you die again. Not after everything. Not again."

The first ray of the rising sun swept over them. Tony huffed wetly as he wept, an unstoppable torrent in the wake of self-discovery and revelations. Steve inched closer to him and reached out, but he held himself back and just stayed there.

There was nothing to be done. And that was the greatest agony of all.

* * *

It was official. Iron Man had tendered his resignation from all positions he currently held in the Avengers. Tony Stark, however, agreed to remain as SHIELD's consultant and chief tech support, albeit after much persuasion from Director Fury. He cleared his office and private suite of his belongings in the Tower and shipped them over to Malibu in the short span of a day. His lab in the basement however remained as is, retaining all features and equipment but were kept on immediate lockdown with the highest level of security. No one was surprised to learn that the only things that would grant access to it thereon was his or Steve Roger's biometrics.

The Tower was subsequently donated to the Avengers.

Every couple of months or so, Tony would pay the Triskelion a visit to Fury's office. Sometimes, it was a short meet over lunch. Sometimes, if he needed to do a presentation on the latest designs, he'd stick around for a day or two, but never longer than necessary. And Steve never failed to ask him out. Perhaps a quick chat between old friends over cakes and coffee. Or beer, if the committee was a bunch of asshats who liked to drag meetings into the night. And Tony always made time for that no matter how much work he was saddled with. They talked about it. The company, the products, his growing relationship with Pepper.

It took time. They healed. The scab dropped off. A scar remained.

It wasn't so bad.


End file.
